


books, blades, and bloody banes

by doofusface



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Swords & Sorcery, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-06-30 20:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15759507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doofusface/pseuds/doofusface
Summary: Murky heritages, historic bloodlines, and a creeping feeling of being greater follow Pir and Wren as they navigate the world from two differing ends--her from the raging barracks of the Fields, and him from the small duchy of Clifftree.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a writing experiment: zero prep, zero everything
> 
> welcome to the world i havent even named yet

The teen sits with his legs crossed, knotted on the ground. He waits for the inevitable, for the sunlight that he sees every morning. He waits, there, under the gnarled branches, by the burned and hollowed trunk.

It comes along, dancing on the raven-haired head of his friend, prancing around her messy curls like the fairies he’d been warned about.

“You’re late,” he says, frowning.

She is.

The books he’s brought are damp from the mist and general drizzle. The cloth he’d used to wrap them barely helped, and the girl wrings out the sad textile after he’s passed the package and hangs it on one of the lower branches.

“Toka needed help,” she says, shrugging. “You know I can’t get away from her if she’s asking questions.”

The boy wrinkles his nose, conceding. “Yeah, I guess.”

He watches her inspect the books—their covers, their stitches, their papers. Her eyes light up when she opens the first, mouthing the name of the author.

He grins. “I got it right, huh, Pir?”

Pir smiles wide, sharp canines greeting the world. “These are it! My grandmother’s books! Look, Wren—” she says, scooting over and tilting the books to his view, “—see there? ‘ _For Piran_ ’—that’s my dad!”

“Well, what are you gonna do with these?” Wren asks, cocking a bushy brow. He fidgets, tugging at his shirtsleeves. “I don’t think they’re good for _swordsmanship_.”

“No, but I’ll be able to study this at the barracks,” Pir says excitedly. Her fingers tap to a silent rhythm, and she seems to almost _buzz_.

Wren nudges her. “Don’t do that here—I won’t be able to get away.”

“Scared I’ll hurt you, Wren?” Pir teases, smiling sweetly.

“ _No_ ,” he argues, pouting and crossing his arms, “just scared you’ll lose it and run off to the next town. _Again_.”

“C’mon, you know how to summon a leash now, right?” she grins, clicking her tongue. “It wouldn’t be too bad. Might even be good practice for you.”

“I should’ve joined you at the Fields,” Wren frowns. The scar on his temple catches a ray, and Pir shakes her head.

“You’re better than me, Wren,” she says, squeezing his shoulder, “but only when you’re able to pick up the blade. And you haven’t, not in four years.” _Sigh._ “You know someone has to.”

“Should’ve taught Gannyle,” he mutters, sighing heavily. “She’s good, too, you know. Fluid movement, quick feet.”

“Runs away from loud sounds. Can’t track a rabbit. Hates mutton.”

“You’re going to be reading books when you’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“To keep up with _you_ , back here, reading ahead on causing fire to rain on enemy lines.”

“ _Pir_ ,” Wren says, a crack in his voice and in his eyes. “Why’d you have to do it?”

Pir offers a consolatory smile, a hand up to show off her clawed fingers. “Might as well be the mutt, right?”

“I’m serious.”

“That’s new.”

Wren rolls his eyes. “If you weren’t my friend…”

“What? You’d propose?” Pir teases, nudging him with her elbow. “Like Haitho? Did I tell you about that?”

Wren finds his palm connecting with his forehead, the light _slap_ carrying a few trees past.

Pir grins. “So I did!”

“Haitho just wants you to stay because you’re the best storyteller in town,” Wren grumbles, lips pursing.

“Oh, I know.”

“ _We_ still have an agreement, right?”

“Never forgot it, Ser Lockes,” Pir laughs softly. She picks up a small branch, twirling it. “I’ll find you a nice swordswinger, don’t sweat.”

“Gotta like knotted pastries,” Wren checks, picking up his own branch. He stares at it, the lower half looking much like a pommel.

Pir laughs a little. “I wouldn’t be her friend otherwi—oh, _Wren Lockes_ ,” she says, cutting herself off as she turns to find him eyeing the branch, “are you sure you want to hold that?”

Wren’s jaw clenches, his hand loosening its grip.

Pir moves forward, dropping her branch and gently prying his fingers off of his. “There, c’mon, Wren. It’s okay. It’s just a branch.”

Wren releases it, finally, and Pir pats him on the shoulder before turning and snapping it into two. She tosses the pieces far off in opposite directions, smiling back reassuringly at her friend.

Wren clears his throat. “When do you figure I’ll be able to carry one again?”

“You’re my favorite person, remember?” Pir says quietly.

He nods.

“Ser Lockes,” she says solemnly, barely above the coming breeze, “I don’t think you’re ever going to raise another blade while I still live.”


	2. Chapter 2

"You have everything?" Toka asks for the eighteenth time, wrinkled hands perched on her charge's shoulders. Her cloth-wrapped head is turned toward the door, the scents of knotted pastries wafting in from the caravan outside. "Ah—the Duchess sent gifts, I see."

"Toka, you can't see," Pir laughs, patting the woman's arm and rustling the screen of beads on her clothing.

 _Hum._  "That would be correct."

Pir shakes her head, leading the elder to the door. "Do you want some? Wren made sure to pack extras for you, just in case."

"Much like his mother, young Lockes," Toka says distantly, pulling out a pouch from one of her many hidden pockets. "Now, Pir—take this. Wood from the Low Bend, where the fairies grieve for men, and—"

"—and the men protect the Baned," Pir finishes, clasping the old, faded pouch. "Really, this could've waited until after the pastries, Toka."

" _Bah!_  Every moment must be kept, and must be kept  _well_ ," Toka says, shaking a finger in Pir's face. "Keep that on you, young Lakdana. Would that your blood finds you there."

"My blood?" Pir asks, brows knitting in confusion. "But Toka, you said—"

"May the sun shine well on you today, Elder," Duchess Lockes says in her cool, steady voice as she enters the doorway. She curtsies by Toka, an old habit never to be broken.

"She's curtsied," Pir says.

"Did she pay you to say that?" Toka asks, a brow raised.

" _Elder_ ," the Duchess frowns.

"And she's frowning," Pir says, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "You've insulted her, Toka."

"When my eyes were still young, I carried her before even her mother," Toka huffs, straightening her back. "If she were to be insulted, it would be when I'd held the meats far from her as a child—and she wasn't then, so she won't be now."

The Duchess sighs. "A joke, Elder. Much like the ones you're accustomed to."

"Well, why didn't you say so!" Toka exclaims, waving a hand wildly about. "I can't see, you know—I can't read your faces."

The Duchess resists the urge to make contact between her palm and forehead, but Pir gives in immediately.

"I don't know how you managed…" Pir mumbles to the royal, ducking away quietly toward the caravan.

"She was less so then," the Duchess whispers back before returning her attention to Toka. "Now, Elder Toka—you're in need of a new pupil—"

"A new one?" Toka asks, lips pursed. "I'm in need of a new  _charge_ , Little Fire. I have pupils aplenty."

"And Wren?"

"Your boy has always been under my wing, whether he knows or not. Blood would not have kept him from me, and even then, he has much more talent than yours and the Duke's—may he rest—lines combined."

The Duchess smiles proudly. "Apt, since we'd brought him home."

"For a stable boy."

"What are you im—"

Toka holds a hand up, her veins clearly seen. "Remember what humble beginnings oft lead to, Little Fire."

"I would  _appreciate_  it,  _Elder_ ," the Duchess huffs, adjusting her richly colored garments, "if you would simply  _encourage_  my son without all the half-hearted  _darts_  you and the others so  _love_  to  _throw_."

Toka smiles, hearing the rustling and whine of loose metal and thick fabric. "The words shall die with me, Fothayne, until another generation seeks again to become as destructive as the ones of old."

"Not to cut your health, but let us hope."

"My health!  _Ha!_  My health may be cut. What would it matter to me? To return back to the elements would be an honor."

"There, now," Fothayne says, a soft gleam in her eyes. She touches a weathered silver ring on her pinky. "Would that I keep a mind like yours."

Toka sighs contentedly, turning away from the duchess. "A boon to you, as it is to me. Let us hope so, Little Fire. Let us hope so."

* * *

"Your mother's giving Toka a real time," Pir laughs, arms open as she walks up to Wren, standing by his and the Duchess' horses.

He accepts the hug, fine metals jangling as he does so. "She said Toka always gave her the same when she was growing," he says, holding his friend at arm's length. "Look at you, Pir—all yellowed-out for the Fields. And a fancy new belt! Who was the bribe-giver?"

"Joddack," Pir says with a roll of her eyes. "Wants me to persuade the other trainees to buy his wares."

"You're going to be  _very_ popular," Wren smirks, releasing her. He fidgets with his collar, the thick fabric caught on one of his necklaces. "Going to wish you had your old bodyguard around."

"They say they've let in axes and bows this year," Pir says slyly, moving to pet the horses. "Hello, Treant. Your master ought to learn a new sort of metal, right? Maybe then he'd join me at the Fields, like he was supposed to."

Wren butts in, leaning over her. "Can't shoot true. Can't throw much better."

"Axes can be melee."

"A great-ax?"

"Even a minor," Pir shrugs, smiling at her own joke. "I've seen old Qua do it. She can take on a good few bears with an itty-bitty chunk of sharp metal."

"Old Qua could slay an entire army with her disappointment in their dress code."

"True. But it's not her fault she was born into a line of tailors."

"Countered," Wren agrees, straightening out Pir's braid. "Keep this fixed. You're going to be a role to follow whether you like it or not."

"Thanks, royal," Pir says, straightening her clothes. She grins tightly, letting Wren check her teeth. "Goo'?"

" _Very_ popular, Pir," Wren repeats, nodding. "I suggest telling them upfront. Your ears catch too much and it would be a hassle otherwise, especially if there happens to be a Hound there."

"Wasn't planning on lying, Wren."

"I'm only saying."

" _You're_  all trained for this," Pir sighs, the smell of pastries no longer bringing comfort to her insides. Her shoulders sag, clawed hands wringing when she meekly asks, "Promise you'll try?"

Wren smiles sadly. "For you? Of course. But it will be some time—"

"Come, now," Fothayne interrupts, exiting Toka's home. She gestures to the carriage and horses, eyes on the teens. "Pir, we will ride with you to the gates, and watch you go. Now would be the time to take a last look through your things, make sure you've everything you need. Son, ready the horses and let Xano know we'll be off in a moment."

She ducks back into the home, the rattle of the thin metal on her clothes going with her.

"So this is how it goes," Wren says, half-frowning as he watches his mother go back inside. "Feels odd."

"Ye—" Pir starts slowly. Something  _clicks_ —her eyes widen as she grabs hold of Wren's shoulder, tugging him around the horses. She pulls out the pouch Toka had given her. "Wren—Toka said I might find my blood. With  _this_ ," she says in a hushed tone, head ducked and forcing the boy to hunch over.

Wren's brows knit as he inspects the light pouch. "But I thought—"

"I know. Listen," she says, chin tucked. "I won't have a library as big as the one at the capital, and I won't be able to leave until at least next spring—"

"I'll look into it," he promises, pulling her into a careful hug. "Just don't die at training and we'll be fine."

"There's no emblem," Pir says, letting go.

A little flame crackles there, deep in her eyes.

A little flame about to die out.

"There's nothing to start with."

Wren gulps. He looks down at the plain brown pouch, faded with time.

_What worth is a child with no line?_

He winces, then steels himself.

_Worth to us? More than a line._

"There's always something to start with, Pir," he says steadily. He thumbs the knot. "What's inside?"

_Your curse, then, strangers._

Pir swallows thickly, hands twitching. "Wood, from the Low Bend."

 _Let the Bane be a Boon. Come, child_ — _it's time to see your new home: Clifftree._

Wren laughs. His eyes crinkle and shine. "You're crazy, then! Take it with you, Pir."

Pir shakes her head fervently, pushing back the pouch and him with it. "You'll need a bit, at least, to research—"

Wren checks his belt, finding an empty pouch. He silently asks Pir for permission before— " _There_ ," he says, splitting the contents. He knots both pouches, passing the brown one back to Pir. "More for you, obviously, but we'll both have some."

"Wait," Pir says, taking both in hand. She pivots, rushing into the carriage.

 _Shuffling_ , as Wren waits, the horses grazing peacefully beside him.

 _Creaking_ , as Pir closes the carriage door, hopping down and handing him his green pouch.

He inspects it, raising a brow at the inked  _P_ on the top.

"A matching set," Pir grins, showing off the  _W_  on hers. "It may fade. A rush job, and all."

"This is what magic's for," Wren smirks, waving a hand over the pouches. He concentrates, the welling feeling in his gut and light flare in his bones taking over briefly.

A low glow of light by his eyes—then, nothing.

Pir peeks. "Think it'll stay, then?"

"You know the basics better than me," Wren shrugs, squinting at the pouches. "If it  _does_  fade, I'll have to embroider it."

"I'll just have to fix your mucked-up magic," Pir jokes, nudging him with her elbow.

"That's  _mean_."

"You always said to treat you like a commoner."

"You treat commoners nicer than—"

"Ready?" Fothayne's voice calls out from inside.

"Ah—yes, Duchess!" Pir responds, nodding once at Wren. She bows halfheartedly, flourishing a wave. "Until the spring, Ser Lockes."

Wren frowns, unamused. "We're riding to the gates."

"You say so as if we'll have time to stop there," Pir laughs cheekily, hopping back into the carriage. She hangs on the side, cupping a hand over her mouth. "Xano! It's time!"

"Coming, young Pir!" says a deep voice from the dip in the hill. Xano's multi-colored hat pops into view, tilted to one side by the weight hanging stones. His half-scaled face greets the two with a smile and wave. "Off, then?"

"You go on, Xano," Wren says, swinging up to his saddle. "Mother will be out soo—"

 _Rustling_ , as Fothayne steps over the threshold, sleeves raised. Toka follows behind her, but stops and hold to the doorpost.

A bow from the duchess to the elder.

(Wren shrugs, gesturing to the two subtly.)

"We'll see her off, Toka," Fothayne says, clasping the old woman's hand.

"Someone has to," Toka grins, a light chuckle escaping her. She frees her hand, tapping Fothayne's hands away. "There, now. Go on, Little Fire. Young Lakdana will be late."

"I'll see you soon, Toka!" Pir yells, before slipping inside the carriage. "Take care of Wren for me!"

"Oh, if he studies he'll be fine," Toka snorts, heading back inside. "Away, away! And Xano, watch for wolves!"

Wren chortles, riding forward to the carriage as his mother hoists herself up to her own steed. He knocks on the wood, ducking down as Pir peeks through the curtains.

"What now?" she asks, leaning on the window.

"Don't kill any wolves before you get to the Fields, will you?" Wren says with a lilt in his voice.

Pir blinks.

Frowns.

Opens her mouth to tell him something unsavory—but he's off, snickering and returning to his mother's side.

"What have you done now?" Fothayne asks once they've descended the hill, a brow quirked as they ride behind the carriage leisurely.

"Nothing, mother," Wren says, smiling politely. He sits up a little straighter, watching the carriage roll through the bridge leading to the gate. "Just a reminder, and a farewell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi if you see this on wattpad it's me! don't freak out!

**Author's Note:**

> <3 
> 
> God bless fam, talk to me here or on tumblr at doofwrites!
> 
>  
> 
> [now on wattpad!](https://my.w.tt/XoTiMjP26P)


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